


Reined

by thefirstwhokneels



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Prison Sex, Thor 2 Spoilers, Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirstwhokneels/pseuds/thefirstwhokneels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor's visit in Loki's prison cell spirals out of control. Or maybe the control has never even been with Thor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reined

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write porn with hair pull and such, but then Loki happened..

Every day they bring him food and drink, they bring him buckets of cold water to clean himself, they bring him books (boring and harmless all of them – it makes Loki scoff in indignation that they deem what he has already learnt over the centuries is not dangerous enough).

Only his mother visits him sometimes but he is gladder when she doesn’t. She still has the power that makes the clear lines he has meticulously drawn between and around things blurry again.

There are two guards standing constantly outside the glass cage, facing him, unmoving and uncaring, and that’s his only company.

Sometimes Loki has no idea how he has managed to survive with keeping his sanity intact so far. The lack of stimuli is the worst in the confinement. He hasn’t used his voice for weeks but there is not really anything he can use it for. Boredom has always been his greatest enemy – that’s the only thing they have ever shared with Thor.

He wishes Thor would come but he hasn’t been in the dungeons for months. In the beginning he used to visit him, and it provided the most glorious entertainment for days afterwards. It never ended well, not for Thor at least, and maybe the fool finally sees the futility in his efforts. It amuses Loki how he is still able to ruffle Thor’s feathers, even with a glass wall separating them. It gives him the sense of control, the most he could ever achieve in this situation, and it tastes almost like freedom. Taking this little away from him nags him like a splinter under his nail.

He leans back on the cot, stretching his limbs with a smirk, his calves dangling from the bed. He knows the guards are ordered to watch him, and it’s a condition he can turn to his own advantage, wielding their own weapon against them. It’s just a bit of entertainment where he is provided none.

He has no means to contact Thor, to lure him to his cell, but he can spite him from afar.

His hand sneaks in his pants and he lets out a wanton sigh, spreading his legs further. His fingers wrap around his length, stroking himself into hardness way too quickly. He tips his head back but from under his eyelids his gaze fixates the guards on the other side of the glass display. He knows he has their attention, even if unwilling at that. He bites his lip, more out of hiding the smirk than holding back a moan.

He hasn’t touched himself ever since he was thrown in here, and maybe even much before that, so the white pleasure approaches unsurprisingly fast.

“Ahh—“ he groans loudly, without inhibition. His thumb circles around the head and smears the pre-cum along the shaft to smooth his strokes. He wants to laugh but the pleasure uncoiling in his belly makes his breath hitch.

His back arches away from the cot, and with his free hand he pushes the waist of his pants down, freeing himself. He can see the guards’ stony face and rigid posture, he can see the awkward little shuffles they unconsciously make, and he tunes up his own sighs and motions, the languid, leisurely slides of his fist. His body writhes with the approach of release, and when it floods him, Loki drills his head into the blanket, his mouth agape, and he moans seemingly with the relief of desire cumulating for centuries:

“Thor oh Thooor—“ and he comes with his brother’s name spilling from his lips as he spills on his own hand.

Even through the haze of his completion he is able to catch the uncomfortable jerks of the guards, the glances they share. He hopes they would deliver his indirect message.

If he is lucky enough, Thor would come soon. He always does, eventually.

\- - -

Long days pass. Thor doesn’t come but Loki knows he got his message. The guards from the first day don’t return but he treats the new guards with the same performance.

If they put him on display, he can make a two-edged sword out of it. Now they need to deal with him debasing everything they cherish. And there is only one thing he wants to debauch more than anything, spoil its brightness, its grandeur so much that the need aches in him like a dagger in his chest.

\- - -

He hears the distant thumps, shaking the foundation of the palace. The guards are nervous and fidgeting.

Then silence.

He knows something is unfolding, a threat.

He realizes its magnitude only when he hears the sound of a gait he has been anticipating for months.

\- - -

“You must be truly desperate to come to me for help,” Loki drawls. There is a pang of disappointment in him, and the spark of glee, too.

Thor watches him with a stern expression, an unrelenting glare. “You should know, when you betray me I will kill you.”

 _When_. No more illusions, no more sentimentality. For the splinter of a second if throws him off-guard but he doesn’t voice it. His smirk is daunting as Loki raises an eyebrow, questioning everything about Thor in the way he knows irks Thor. “When do we start?”

Thor doesn’t answer, only fixates him with another glare as if it had any power over Loki. He turns, waves a servant closer. He takes a sack from the servant’s hands, and with a short order Thor dismisses him along with the guards before entering the glass prison cell.

He stands there tall and bright and golden, and the difference between them has never struck Loki so much as it does at the moment. And it’s like second nature to him that his keen eyes seek out the cracks in Thor’s shield, in the appearance of the cherished hope of Asgard, to claw his nails into it and pull and destroy and make the two of them alike. He doesn’t hide his smirk because Thor is riled, fury rippling under his skin. The air crackles around him as he moves closer.

“Undress,” Thor barks suddenly.

“Oh!” Loki grins, his eyebrows quirking with amusement. With graceful ease he stands, body uncoiling from the reclined state. “It’s an interesting turn of events. You can still surprise me, good.”

Thor eyes him with a strange gaze, wary and heavy, too. There is a dark tone there that makes Loki’s stomach roll with sticky excitement.

“You missed me so much, Thor? Good, because I missed you too,” he says, the insinuation heavy in his tone. It’s not even a lie but it’s only he who knows it for certain.

There is a vein in Thor’s forehead that starts to protrude but Thor doesn’t answer him. Without word, he throws the sack on the ground and kicks it toward Loki.

Loki nudges it open with his foot. The crumpled mess of leather and wool makes him purse his lips.

“My old garment,” he coos. “How touching of you to have kept it.”

“Move, Loki.”

Loki bends down slowly. He pulls the old tunic, the boots and pants, the battered chestplate from the sack and lets them drop on the floor. Thor is watching him silently, rooted to the spot as if he was afraid to move closer, so Loki crosses the distance for him, crowding his space as Thor used to crowd his in the old times, not minding how Loki felt about it. It is just fair that he returns it in kind.

“All those straps and hooks and buckles,” he whispers like it’s a secret, soft and intimate. His nose brushes against Thor’s chin, catching the earthy scent of him. His fingers run along the armor beneath Thor’s cape, nails scraping the metal and the design he is not yet familiar with, curling his finger around the edges as if he wanted to claw them off. Maybe along with Thor’s skin, peeling them, biting and drilling himself to Thor’s pure core to stain it. “I might need your help with it.”

Thor doesn’t budge, his stubbornness to stand his ground in any circumstances works to Loki’s advantage. “I’m not fit for your jests right now.”

“Mmh, you never are,” there is a pout in Loki’s voice that only makes Thor’s eyes narrow.

Loki reaches behind his neck and pulls the battered tunic over his head, not stepping farther from Thor. He allows his gaze to swipe over Thor’s face, catching the stealthy look Thor is giving his half-nude form. He can see from Thor’s eyes, the purple circles underneath that the news of him pleasuring himself to his name has poisoned his mind and dreams over the past days. He knows it from the gaze Thor tries to hide.

“Tell me _brother_ how your nights are?” A muscle twitches in Thor’s jaw. The flush creeping up his neck betrays him, and Loki lets a grin pull at his lips. “Do you think of me sitting here alone when you try to sleep? Do you think of me lying naked on my cot and—“

Thor grabs his arms and pushes him back against the wall. The impact knocks the back of his head against the stone.

“Enough of your shameful games,” Thor growls, and Loki laughs at him.

“Oh you do!” He pushes his hips forward and slowly grinds against Thor, a hand twining around Thor’s waist and keeping him in place. “How strong you are for resisting coming here for so long. You have been _craving_ for this, yes?”

“Loki—“ It’s not really a warning, Loki thinks. It wouldn’t be so strangled if it was.

His other hand crawls down and grabs Thor’s cock through his pants. It snugs into his palm perfectly as he rubs it delicately. Thor’s mouth shrink into a taut line as his hips snap forward on their own volition, eyelids sink low for a second before he pulls himself together.

“You can have this, Thor,” Loki whispers. His voice is honey and seduction, the arcane syllables of dark desires hidden in the darkest recesses of a mind. His voice is full of promises, but underneath it’s tar and thorns. Oh how he has wielded this weapon for so many times, conjuring the sweetest effect out of his victims. “I’m declared guilty, I have Asgard’s verdict upon me. You know it’s justified. It’s part of the punishment you have every right to.”

There is standstill between them. The clear color of Thor’s eyes dips and twirls into a deeper shade Loki knows so well. It’s not only Loki who loves the taste of blood on his teeth, the beauty of destruction, the ever hungry euphoria of the power of his own arms and mind.

“You disgust me,” Thor grunts finally but to Loki it sounds like victory.

As he flips Loki around, pushing his face against the stone wall, Loki lets himself snicker at how easy Thor is, how predictable.

“Oh I know,” he preens. _And I know that too, how much you are disgusted by yourself._

A hand slips into his hair, raking it almost in reverie, pulling at the wild locks. From the corner of his eyes Loki sees the strange look on Thor’s face appearing again, the warring desire to hurt and take, and his damn nobility Loki has always hated so much.

“My fastidious brother, look at you. How low you sank,” Thor murmurs. There is an alien clink to his tone.

 _And how low you will sink if I can help it,_ _Thor_ , Loki thinks. But what he says is another truth:

“Do you not like your own handiwork?”

“You can only thank it to yourself,” Thor’s breath is hot against the shell of his ear. His hand turns to fist as he pulls his head back, and Loki arches his back, revealing the pale curve of his neck. With the stance, his buttocks press against Thor’s crotch just in the right way, and suddenly Thor pushes back, surging for the heat that awaits him just beneath Loki’s clothes.

“Oh of course. You have never been at fault,” he spits, the venom seeping through his voice. “It’s always been the bad seed in the family.”

“This is not what I meant,” Thor’s beard rasps against the soft skin on the side of his neck.

“This is what you just said, with your one-sided view on things,” Loki remarks, and his hand flies up and into the golden hair, smooth and perfect that makes him bare his teeth in blind fury, dragging Thor’s head closer still, seeking the pain of the stubble and teeth that punctures the truth deeper into him that it has always been like this between them: with words and intentions derailed. “Foolishly not ever realizing the power of words.”

“The power of words didn’t get you too far.”

“No matter how you claim to be changed, you are still the ignorant brute I despised all my life.”

Thor bites down the junction of his neck and shoulder and Loki’s body jerks in his hold with delicious glee. Strong arms cage him, squeeze him closer, and Loki reads easily in their desperation.

“This is the lie you tell yourself?”

Loki laughs derisively. He rolls his hips, creating friction with a certain sensibility that contradicts his words. Thor groans against the nape of his neck like a wounded beast, and a shiver runs down Loki’s spine at the knowledge what Thor is holding back, the monstrous force that strives on destruction but ever was Loki a creature to find beauty in pulling things apart – even if for that, he needed to pull himself apart, too.

“Would you like to compare mine to yours? About the brother you conjured for yourself and still believe in? Too vain to admit that he doesn’t exist because that would mean you _failed_ , and the Mighty Thor never fails?”

Thor hurls him to the floor. The impact disorientates him for a second, and just then Thor is already on him, ripping his pants off with one violent move. His hand is in Loki’s mane in an instant, pulling backwards, forcing his spine into a painful bend. His hips nestle snugly in the curve of Thor’s lap as Thor kneels behind him. There is a short fumbling, the sound of clasps opening.

Into the silence and Thor’s ragged breaths, Loki snarls: “You failed in the simple act of keeping a brother by your side. How would you ever be able to save a realm, then? To rule it? If you are the hope of Asgard, then I shall start to pray for her.”

His voice hitches as Thor thrusts a spit-soaked finger into his body, and a second, without waiting for him to accommodate.

“Yes, Thor, do it. Maybe with force you can achieve what you have never been able to with your ignorance.”

“You want this, too. Don’t think you can delude me.”

“And you say I’m full of lies. We are not so different after all, Odinson.”

“Your vile words have no power over me,” Thor growls, and Loki would have laughed at how blind Thor was if not for the girth breaching him and pushing the breath out of his lungs as Thor drives his cock deep inside him. “I lost my brother to his own madness, and you’re just a shell that wears his skin.”

Thor slams into him now with fervor that coaxes grunts over Loki’s tongue, grunts that scrape against his throat and rasp against his lips, strangling the furious words he has prepared to throw at Thor. There is nothing gentle in this, nothing intimate, only taking and hurting. Then again, it has never been different between them.

Thor’s fingers rake down his flank while he is keeping his hold in the raven hair, tearing and tangling it just more. His thighs and balls slap heavily against Loki’s. His thumb dips into Loki’s side, pinching and twisting the flesh. “And a ragged skin at that. Even Sleipnir smells better.”

“I didn’t know you had a liking for horses. Bring back the muzzle, put reins on me,” Loki hisses, clamping down on the cock inside him as he feels Thor jerk behind him at his words. As if to obey, Thor pulls at his hair, forcing Loki’s mouth open to ease the stretch, and the gasps escape from him freely. His scalp is prickling, drawing stinging tears behind his eyes but he meets the thrusts halfway, with no less brutality. His hands scramble on the floor for purchase, fingers digging into stone and he welcomes the bloody crescents under his nails.

“Hump me like a beast then lead me wherever you will.”

Thor comes with a groan, sheathed as far inside in him as possible. His seed spills hotly in Loki’s bowels, and the sensation lurches Loki’s stomach in a way that’s as much terror as glee. Thor hunches over him, the metal of his armor burns coldly against his damp skin. A hand crawls around Loki’s waist but before it could curl around Loki’s erection to pump his completion from him, Loki jerks away from the touch. Helping him to his release would be a lie he doesn’t want to comfort Thor with.

He lets his body slump to the ground. He turns on his side, legs drawn to his chest as he watches Thor arrange his breeches, wipe slick fingers into Loki’s discarded tunic. Loki unclenches his muscles, letting the slow trickle of seed stain the curve of his ass. He doesn’t miss how Thor’s gaze darts there, taking in the filth, the rip of his clothes, the torn mop of his hair.

Loki’s smile is gentle, and for that it is deathly. It makes Thor visibly shiver with unease, with the dawning horror of realization.

“Great tidings, Thor: you have just earned the help for Asgard with an act fitting the memory of what you once had with the one you called brother.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> wtf this is, I'm not sure. Not sure if it makes any sense either. i guess i need to revisit this when my feels are not so jumbled anymore.


End file.
